Batman vs Superman: The Distopia
by dracostrike786
Summary: A Distopian FanFiction in which Superman, drunk on his own limitless powers and with the help of a few other corrupt superheroes, has set up a dictatorship over earth and imprisoned the greatest threat to his rule, Batman. Will Batman, alongside a few benevolent heroes be able to defeat him and free the people from his tyranny?
1. Author's Note

_**Hey guys, what's up?**_

 _ **It's been a while since I posted anything. This is my new story. It's based on a Distopian marvel fantasy which i really hope you guy's will enjoy. I won't be posting my thoughts in bold from now on, and I will only respond to any reviews at the bottom.**_

 _ **Yeah I had a busy summer but this idea just hit me out of nowhere and I'm really looking forward to putting this down in type. I'll try to have a chapter up every three or four days. I hope you enjoy this as much as I will.**_

 _ **That's all guys...**_

 _ **ENJOY !**_


	2. Confession

Sweat.

Sweat and Piss.

The asylum's interrogation room smelled like Sweat and Piss.

They said it was an asylum for the mentally unwell but everyone, inside and out, knew it was anything but.

It was an interrogation facility for the mentally rebellious.

And a certain ex-vigilante / billionaire playboy had the top bunk. The penthouse you could say if you were feeling generous. Bruce wasn't feeling generous a lot these days though.

"Open your eyes comrade."

He didn't want to, but after three months in the facility Bruce was rather intimately acquainted with the sound of a buzz baton.

It chased and he played hard to get. He wasn't really good at it though, the baton always had its way with him in the end.

Bruce pulled his caked eyelids open. Two guards were standing on either side of him, they were fat, smelled like smoke and booze, and were exchanging snide comments. They didn't exactly radiate professionalism.

 _I could take them,_ thought Bruce, _I could trip the one on his left, gut the one on his right grab his baton and hit them both._

Thoughts like these didn't go a long way to cheering him up though. He was in pathetic state; they barely fed him enough to keep his heart pumping. He would try working out but his body had broken down all the muscle mass he possessed. He was so weak a fifty meter sprint would make him so dizzy, he would veer into a wall and knock himself out. These guys could stun him a dozen hits before he got to his feet. Still, he was Batman. They should have gotten a squadron of their most elite units just to transport him to the interrogation room. Instead all the security they thought to give him was a couple of obese, hung-over guards.

 _Who can blame them though?_ He thought darkly, _I'm so pathetic I would trip over myself in this state._

An intercom blared with static overhead ending his miserable ponderings.

"Convict 110011. State your name." The indignity of being ordered to 'state his name' by a disembodied voice obliges him to keep his mouth shut. After about three seconds I feel a sharp jolt between his shoulder blades. His body stiffens painfully, and a punishing electric surge shoots through him, before I relax again. The intercom repeats its request, I take the hint.

"Bruce" I say.

The intercom crackles "Convict 110011. State your full name."

I feel a hot bubble of anger rise inside him. I can still here the humming of the baton next him though, and his back still burns a bit from the shock. "Bruce Wayne".

"Convict 110011. Were you engaged in criminal activity prior to your apprehension whilst under the alias of 'Batman'?"

"No, I was not."

"You are ordered to answer truthfully"

"No, I bloody well wasn't engaged in criminal activity, alright?"

Bruce dimly heard the words 'level 3' before he was hit by the guard in the same spot between the shoulder blades with a considerably stronger current. Bruce was gasping for air when the intercom asked him the question again.

"N-No" Bruce choked out.

The intercom shut off. The guards stepped in front of him, one of them pulled out a metal rod. He flicked it and suddenly there was blood in Bruce's mouth and he was on the ground. He was punched, kicked, shocked and whacked for the better part of an hour. After half an hour he was so sore that he couldn't take the incessant beating anymore. Swallowing his pride he tried to ask them to stop but they wouldn't stop kicking him long enough for him to draw a decent breath. He faded in and out of consciousness; it's hard to fall asleep when you keep being shocked. After god knows how long they let him be. He counted fifteen breaths before the intercom came alive and said;

"Convict 110011, were you engaged in criminal activity prior to your capture."

A man only has so much willpower. Especially if he's hungry, sleep deprived and half mad from pain.

"Yes" he said. And fell into blissful unconsciousness.

He didn't sleep long though. He was jolted awake yet one more time. The static from the intercom was completely gone by now, either it was shut off, which seemed unlikely, or it was waiting for something. The guards grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He leaned against the wall and waited for whatever potential indignity was next. He didn't have to wait long.

"Convict, did you engage in these activities under the alias of 'Batman'?"

Bruce was sorely tempted to reply with one of the many witticisms going through his head. But he wasn't stupid; he knew being tacky would only lead to further pain, pain which could be avoided. "Yes, I did."

"Why did you engage in these activities?"

"To cleanse the city of crime" said Bruce.

"That statement is incorrect, why did you engage in these activities?"

Bruce was perplexed. How was he to answer when the intercom obviously didn't want the truth? He was even prepared to say whatever it wanted him to say, but he didn't even know what that was. He made another attempt;

"I did it to get rich and famous?"

Zap, another one in the back. Bruce doubled over waiting for the next hit, but apparently it was feeling generous

"That statement is incorrect, why did you engage in these activities?"

"I did it to vex the government?"

Another shock hit him, this one in the side. It was a particularly strong one and Bruce fell over.

"I did it to wreak havoc and make the people miserable."

This time the shock wasn't as strong, maybe he was on the right track?

Suddenly it dawned on him what the intercom wanted him to say. It was too much though, he maintained a stony silence.

There were no shocks this time, one of the guards simply bent him over and sat on his back. Bruce was lying full face down on his stomach when the other guard kicked him in the face, again and again and again. After a dozen kick the guard finally stopped; a burst of static followed, "Why did you engage in these activities?"

"I did it because I'm a bad man. I'm a criminal and that's what criminals do."

"That will be all" The intercom shut down.

The guards grabbed the half conscious Bruce, and dragged him back to his cell.

The next day he was dragged back to the same room. The intercom quickly stuttered to life. The voice that came though was computerized to be flat; there was no way to tell if it was the same person or not.

"Mr. Bruce Wayne" Oh look at that, respect. "Do you know why you are here?"

 _No I bloody well don't!_ "No."

"Would you like to venture a guess?"

 _What do you think?_ "No thanks."

"You are here because the dictator desires you to be here. Do you know why he desires you to be here?"

 _Like hell I do_ "No I don-Oomph" One of the guards kicked him in the side.

He knew it was impossible, but he thought he detected an icy undertone in the next statement. Or maybe it was just the choice of words. "I strongly suggest that you venture a guess."

"I don't know, probably because I am supposed to be a dirty criminal."

"What do you mean supposed to be?"

Did he dare? "I mean nothing at all." No he didn't

"Yes you are here because you are a criminal but you have offended our generous leader in another way. You have been recorded rousing the public to acts of rebellion, would you like to hear?"

 _He had never! This he would like to see._ "Bring it."

An audio recording played of a speech that was undoubtedly in Bruce's voice. "My fellow citizens, figures you all are familiar with have risen again; people who once were the very embodiment of justice are now little more than power hungry bigots. Yes, I speak to you of none other than superman himself and his band of corrupt heroes. They have taken over our society and are spreading corruption and terror in every way imaginable. I urge you all from the bottom of my heart to stand up against them and fight for your rights and justice. These people are no longer the heroes that we loved; they are villains, and are we to stay down while they run us over? No! We will rebel! And we will reclaim our world!" The speech ended.

It was doctored. He should have known, with voice impersonation technology these people would be able to forge anything they wanted. Was he to fight when the proof itself was being faked by the government?

"Now that you guilt is evident we would like your statement. Please repeat after me 'I, Bruce Wayne, testify that I have been involved in illegal acts against the government for nothing but my own benefit. I plead guilty to all charges laid down upon me and beg the forgiveness of the dictator.'"

It dawned upon him what they wanted. The public was still on his side, on batman's side. They wanted him to confess to his own guilt so that the public would lose all hope of rebellion, of freedom. After all, a revolutionary killed is a martyr. A revolutionary imprisoned is a sacrifice, but a revolutionary broken? Especially is the revolutionary is the heart and core of the revolution? Such a thing would destroy any rebellion. If batman couldn't do it, then who the hell were they?

"Never!" He yelled. "I'd tear my tongue out first!" The guards were upon him again, beating him with their metal rods and shocking him with their batons. But he barely felt the pain, the willful fire inside her burned ever brighter as he saw how desperate they were for his testament. He kept screaming "Never!" and they gave up soon enough. It obviously wasn't working. They couldn't torture a man with his will so hell-bent he didn't feel the pain.

One of the guards went to the corner and picked up a bucket, he walked over to the bat with long purposeful strides and emptied the bucket on his head. An overpowering foul smell filled his reality.

 _So that's where the smell came from…_

You know, there's something about having someone's pissed dumped all over you that do bad things to your resolve. But as a mentioned earlier, Batman's will have reformed itself into iron. Nothing was getting him down. When he shouted "Never!" they decided to try something else; Collateral blackmail. A tile slid over on the far side of the interrogation room. A large television screen blinked to life. It showed Wayne Manor. _I thought they had all my properties confiscated for the government!_

It changed to a close up view of the sitting room. Alfred was sitting alone on the rocking chairs. He had a newspaper in his hands. He kept murmuring something. It was after he overcame the shock of seeing him that Bruce realized what he was murmuring "Master Wayne where are you? Master Wayne where are you?" he was leafing through the news, there were newspapers scattered all around him, next to the him on the table were scraps and newspaper cutouts. All of them had either the word Batman, or the words Bruce Wayne on them. But they were merely theories and propaganda, no actual evidence was provided, no one knew where he was, not really, not even him. Bruce fought back the tears in his eyes. He didn't deserve such love and loyalty

Suddenly the double doors flew open; three officers stepped in and pointed their guns at Alfred. Someone screamed "No!" it was Bruce. "Don't shoot him you bastards!" A voice came over the intercom. "Sir we have the target at gunpoint, orders?"

"Well Mr. Wayne what's it going to be? You have ten seconds to testify, if you don't, your butler is going to die, and don't worry we'll just move onto the next one, you remember your girlfriend don't you? I'm sure you miss her, she sure as hell misses you." There was definitely a strong undercurrent of amusement to the voice. "Ten seconds Bruce, the clock is ticking." Oh they were on first name basis now? He shrugged it away; he didn't have time for such thoughts. He knew he was just using humor to escape the terrible reality of the decision before him.

The Rebellion or Alfred, and then god knew who next?

"Six seconds"

They would keep murdering people he knew until he testified, it was only a matter of time, how many people could he let die at his hands? He could bear his own blood being spilled, but not those of others whose only crime was caring for him.

"Two seconds"

But what if there was still hope for the rebellion and he killed it? Which was worse? He looked up at Alfred's face on the screen and saw from his shocked expression that he could hear them. He would die knowing Bruce let him die.

"I'm afraid your times up Bruce. Soldier, shoot him."

"Wait! Don't shoot! I'll confess."

"You heard him soldier, stand down. Well Bruce, I'm waiting."

Bruce said what he had to. The television shut off.

"Want to know something Bruce? That tape was forged. We had Alfred record that in exchange for us telling him where you were. He's already dead Bruce. We killed him when we confiscated Wayne Manor."

The guards led a broken man back to his cell.

The beating was finally starting to hurt. He welcomed the pain. God knew he deserved it.

 **Hey guys thanks for reading, looking forward to your reviews.**

 **Anon: Wow man, so many ideas'. I'm not sure what you were trying to do there but I'll assume you were just giving me some suggestions. In any case none of them really matches the story I had planned out but I might save them for later. Thanks.**

 **J**


	3. Prison

"Bruce?"

There was a faint knocking sound in the background,

"Bruce?"

The sound was steadily getting more persistent,

"Bruce?"

It was starting to hurt, a constant hammering in his head,

"You better get up right now Bruce or I swear to god I won't bother doing this again"

What the hell?

Bruce opened his caked eyes; he caught the faint whiff of breezy night air and saw a hint of stubble, before it went dark…

It took Bruce Wayne a while to shake off the dizziness but he managed. The drug induce stupor served not only to prevent him rearranging his scrambled wits and thoughts but also to physically break his coordination down to a level at which he couldn't even walk straight. It was depressing to say the least.

After the incident with the guards and the intercom that led to his confession, Bruce spent most days holed up in his cell. Twice a day they would shove of a thin plate of barely edible gruel under the door. Bruce didn't touch his food for the first three days, for fear of whatever chemicals his jailers might have added, he'd rather be sane and starving rather than half mad but full. On the fourth day though they leaked a gas into his room, by the time he woke up his stomach hurt and the trays he'd stacked into a corner were empty. Since that he hadn't been coherent enough to worry about his food, by any angle he was nothing more than an animal, eating and sleeping. One thing that troubled him though, was the fact that no one had done anything about his excretion. There was a pit in the corner of the room where he handled his business, but no one came to clean it up. The smell was the worst thing he had ever endured, worse than the torture. Twenty four hours a day he smelt his own waste, the smell made much worse by the growing amount of the source, and the absolute lack of ventilation in the room except for that tiny slit under the door. These days he spent with his face on the ground next to said slit, but even that didn't seem to work so well now. Spending so much time next to the door he got the impression the corridor his cell was in was empty. There seemed to be a door at the far end that was unlocked twice a day when the guard came in to deliver his meals. There weren't any other cells in this corridor either.

He didn't know much about the guard that gave him his food, except that it was always the same person. He had noticed after two or three deliveries that he had dirty fingernails; yellowish and caked with something brown. If it were physically possible for him, Bruce would have been disgusted. The guard knew where he slept, his fingers had brushed his prickly haggard face once or twice, but he never did anything about it. Bruce had even tried at one point to keep track of the time, by smearing a bit of his crap against the wall like tally marks, but one day when he woke up they were gone and he forget how many he had made. He tried a couple times more but they always got erased after some time so he gave up soon. He found himself hoping that since the food was obviously pretty pathetic it might just clog his arteries and give him a heart attack, but he found himself skeptical to the possibility of them letting him off so easy.

Was this all that was left of him? The shell of a man, the ghost of the man he once was, rotting and decaying day by day with no hope of respite. 'Why won't they just let me die?' he often asked himself. Death would be the most welcome change at this point. The prison he was in was not made of bars of iron and walls of stone, it was made of the contours of his mind, of the hole his weakness had left in his personality. Even if he did escape, what would he do? His mission in life ever since the days of the purge had been to stop the dictator, but now, even if he crawled back to the rebellion in all his former glory, would they even look at him? They would shun him; they would curse his name and rush to erase his existence. No, he was better here, hidden away, so no one could see the extent of how much he had fallen.

Deep down though, he knew why they kept him here, why they would never let him go, never let him die. The public still had to be manipulated and he was, whatever else they may want him to believe, the strongest figure for that. His face would still stir up the strongest feelings amongst them, even if they were feelings of hate and betrayal. They would use his face to incite despair, they would show the people his shrunken eyes, his filthy hair and they would all say 'This is the man who beat Superman not once, but twice. If this is what happened to him, maybe it would be better to just go home and pray, I mean who the hell are we anyway?' And the worst part was he was powerless to stop it.

This was the pit of despair in which Bruce sunk deeper and deeper day by day. And just like that, out of the blue, in a chance so random you feel that it must be the providence of the lord; Bruce found an opportunity.

He had no idea how long he had been in this hellhole, the drugs messed up his internal clock so that he was beyond any hope of tracking time. He must have rolled over in his sleep though, usually when they shoved a plate of food through, it would hit him due to his sleeping position next to the door, his sleep was already pretty weak because of his intoxication; he would wake up immediately and grab the food and shovel it down, such was the state of his constant hunger and befuddled mind. But one day when he woke up he found his thoughts surprisingly sharp and clear as compared to before, he glanced to his right and saw a plate of uneaten food.

Time seemed to stop and Bruce suddenly realized exactly what was happening and what would happen if he didn't execute every single action perfectly. There was drugged food right next to him, and there were comparatively less drugs in his system than before. His mind was strong enough to resist the allure of the food next to him; obviously with his sleep not being interrupted he had slept longer than usual and the drugs had filtered out. Now came the tough part, if he wanted to maintain and possibly improve his clear headed state he had to avoid the food at all costs, no matter what his stomach said. The problem was, how? There were obviously very well hidden cameras in the room and they were surely monitoring his activity with more attention now that his plate had remained untouched, if he feigned sleep much longer they would probably send an official to force feed him. The only option was to eat his food as he usually did upon waking up, hurriedly and single mindedly, or at least appear to eat his food. He would need to dispose of his food eventually so that the guards wouldn't notice that it was uneaten when they came to check; for now he needed a place to put his tray so it would be out of sight of the camera and they wouldn't notice it; but where? Then it hit him.

Doing his best to imitate a drunken swagger he shook himself awake and leapt for the plate, he caught it roughly and mashed it against his face in a savage fashion, to prove that he his long sleep had led to a greater hunger, he filled his mouth with as much gruel as he could without swallowing any or letting his cheeks bug out, and after he felt a reasonable amount of time had passed to justify his finishing his meal, he threw the plate with careful aim at the pile of empty trays stacked at the corner of his room, around the pit in an attempt to block out the smell. Then after waiting for a while lying on the ground and forcing himself not to swallow the food in his mouth, he made his way to the pit. He crouched over it in a posture that suggested he was going to relieve himself, and bowed his head. Relieve himself he did, after he had let the semi-liquid food dribble slowly from his mouth into the pit. Then he pulled up his breaches, crept to his usual spot by the door, dropped himself to the ground, and closed his eyes.

And then after god knows how long; Bruce Wane started to think.

 **So, first post after quite a bit of time, I hope you liked it. I'm kind of in a Dilemma here regarding how I'm going to get batman out of this place so any suggestions from you guys would be very welcome. Also, I thought I'd let you know, I have a blog on WordPress. The link is ' .com' and I use it to review and talk about books that I have read and loved. I would of course, appreciate it if you would check it out and tell me what you think.**

 **Anyway, guys I'll try to get up a new post sooner this time and Rebel_Rennegade_Fett thanks for your review, it was really helpful.**


	4. Escape

His head hurt, but it was much better compared to before. His real tormentor now, was his stomach.

"Bruce Wayne"

He wasn't sure, but it felt as if someone was calling him, his name. It felt as if the voice was coming from within the depths of his mind.

"Bruce are you there? I'm getting a signal but it's really faint, say something for god's sake!"

There was definitely a voice calling to him, what's more it was a voice he recognized…If only he could pin it

"Bruce, please…"

It couldn't be, "Diana…?"

"We're coming Bruce, we're coming. Hang on"

He had been having dreams like this for the past week, but this was the first time he had been able to pin the voice. Was Diana Prince really calling out to him? Had they found him? Or was this some other psychological trick from his tormentors?

These were troubling thoughts and he didn't have time for them yet. He was busy.

He didn't know how much time had passed since he had faked the meal, but he estimated that considering the fact that they gave meals twice a day at roughly twelve hour intervals, and by considering the state of his mind and recalling his medical training, regarding eating and excreting schemes, he judged he had overslept by roughly five hours. That gave him about seven hours until the next meal; he crawled next to the slit in the door, and worked on his plan.

Roughly an hour later, his plan was perfected, he adjusted his position so he was lying parallel to the door, in a way that separated him from the metal object by about one foot; he put his ear to the ground and slept. During his days as Batman, Bruce had perfected the art of sleeping so light that any sound was enough to rouse him, but prevent him from reacting to his return to consciousness. He employed this now, knowing that waiting six hours would only make him twitchy and more likely to make a mistake; also he needed all his strength. Of course he wasn't as good at doing this as he used to be, but the empty, echoing hallway, coupled with the terrible stink that never let him sleep too well anyway, made him fairly sure he could pull it off.

Sure enough, approximately six hours later he heard the sound of heavy footsteps in the outside corridor. As soon as he did, he rolled over so he was touching the door with his back; his entire plan was backed by the assumption that they weren't watching him too closely, given that they had been watching him repeat a cycle of the same three actions for so long. Even the slightest lapse in attention would give him the invaluable second that might just make his plan work.

The guard bent down and Bruce held his breath. He shoved the plate through the slit; the plate hit Bruce's back and stopped. The guard grunted, and being the simple buffoon he was he shoved harder, and harder, and on the third shove Bruce rolled to the side, the momentum of the guard carried his hands and the tray, under the slit and beyond. Bruce moved faster than he had in his entire life, he grabbed the fingers and pulled with as much strength as he could muster, the slit was tall enough to allow the guards beefy hands to slide in, albeit a little painfully, but there was no way his fat wrist was coming through. Bruce knew everything depended on speed and thus he wasted no time, he quickly and methodically broke each of the guard's fingers and set to bashing his wedged in hands with the tray until, the howling guard managed to pull out. The idiot stood up and Bruce seized his opportunity. The guard was too fat too reach under the grill, but Bruce was another matter altogether, months upon months of malnutrition had wrought him so bone thin, that he had no trouble reaching out, grabbing both of the guards legs and yanking them out from under him.

The man fell down with a mighty thump and Bruce's desperate hands scrambled along his body until he found what he was searching for: the gun holster. The purpose of breaking the man's hands was that Bruce knew, that he was not nearly strong enough to win a tug of war against a well fed man, so his only other option to get his hands on the gun, was to incapacitate the guards hands himself. This prevented the guard from doing anything more than battering at Bruce with his meaty forearms and flailing around crying for help, he couldn't stop Bruce, and nor could he prevent him from tripping him and getting the gun. Bruce moved faster than possible as he grabbed the gun from its holster and shot the guard straight in the neck.

Then Bruce took the name of his lord, craned his neck to see the footsteps running towards him from down the corridor and, carefully calibrating his aim, shot the lock on the door twice. This is what he had spent most of the hour thinking, what type of lock they were using and how he would use the gun, to crack it. The lock shattered and Bruce pulled his hands with the gun under the door, just as the first bullets ricocheted off the floor. And then he released his breath. All this had happened in less than ten seconds.

The hard part was done, the rest was easy.

He waited three seconds on the other side of the door, considering the sounds of the footsteps from outside, two of these seconds were spent in hesitation. Bruce smiled, the thought of Batman armed was apparently still enough to incite hesitation. When the door opened Bruce was ready, he jumped to the door, slamming it shut and effectively crushing the fingers of the officer who had opened it, his answering scream echoed satisfyingly loud. Then Bruce pulled the door open in a flash and shot the responsible officer straight in the face, the one behind him levelled his gun but Bruce kicked him in the groin before he had a chance to fire. Bruce put his pistol in the doubled over guards mouth and pulled the trigger. The wall got a fresh coat of paint, and Bruce got a new gun. However he couldn't bask in his victory because just then as if by some hidden sixth sense, Bruce felt an imminent sense of danger. He leapt backwards just as a storm of bullets filled the corridor.

Bruce didn't know how many dozen of officers they had rounded up to finish him, but honestly, he didn't care. He was high, and not on drugs this time, he was high on the surge of danger, and the rush of battle, Batman was once again, after seven months in captivity; adrenalized.

He was still in his wits though, and he knew he couldn't just jump back out in front of god knows how many trained personnel, so he thought. What do I have, that they don't? What is my advantage against, say, twenty shooters? Then it hit him. The smell!

The smell of his own excretion was so strong that he knew anyone not used to it would have a very, hard time focusing. He was willing to bet that the soldiers eyes were watering and they were trying very hard not to breathe. However his advantage would be temporary. Already the air was diffusing in a large volume out of the corridor and he had little enough time to act. Once the smell was gone the soldiers would have absolutely no problems with waiting him out. They could trade shifts, passing the time playing cards with three or four soldiers guarding the door. They might even throw in a grenade and get it over with. He had to move fast. But then even if they were disoriented, it wouldn't be enough to save him in the corridor out in the open would it? However the doorframe of his cell was much smaller, no more than one person could shoot at him through there. If only he could get them to come to his shell and take a shot at him from there, not only would they smell be much harder to cope with, but he would be able to pick them off. Hell if he could get them where he wanted, he might even have a sporting chance.

But dammit there was a problem. How could he possibly provoke them to his cell? They had no reason to move from where they were, and thus he had to make a reason, but what? He couldn't just stick his arm out and start shooting at random. And then a glint of reflected light caught his eye and he had an idea. The walls were lined with metal to hold the concrete blocks together; metal could be used for ricocheting bullets! Despite the grim situation Bruce Wayne allowed himself a smile; obviously fate was on his side today.

As he took careful aim at the reflection of one of the soldiers, it occurred to Bruce that he couldn't afford to waste his bullets like this. Luring the soldiers into his cells would be no use if he couldn't even shoot them, but then he found a solution to yet that problem too. He set his sights and let off four shots with only the slightest variation. Before the sounds of the unfortunate soldiers crying out even registered his hand had shot out and grabbed the ammunition belt off the fat guard.

A couple bullets were shot but they were harmless and they zipped past too late. Now the shooters knew the Bat was armed and fully capable of picking them off where they stood. Bruce was painfully aware of how they could simply move a bit behind the corridor and would be out of his reach and realized too late that as trained shooters they would probably do just that.

They were professionals after all.

Bruce let out a resigned sigh as he accepted the fact that despite all his planning and skill, this was simply beyond him, they would just move a couple steps back and wait for him to come out. If he didn't, they would set up a bomb or use a grenade, and once he had been dealt with, go back to their drinking and cards. He had been caught; it was too late to make a difference now. His name would forever be scorned and there was nothing he could do about it.

But just then something incredible happened. The soldiers started moving towards him!

What the hell!

These people were prison guards; they were highly trained professionals, with detailed drills on how to act in the event of a jailbreak. They had witnessed his skill and knew they were handing over the advantage going to his cell. Then why in the world, were they coming to him?

And then it hit him, he was Batman; he was the bane of Gotham. His reputation was huge and notorious; some people even believed he was a phantom, a meta-human. These people probably had nightmares about him breaking out. What was happening right now was the root of all their dread. They just wanted to kill him and get this nightmare over with. They weren't thinking about drills and techniques. They were thinking about the relief a dead Bat would bring and the honor, the glory, and the money his head would bring.

He was wrong; his strongest weapon wasn't his smell. It was his reputation.

Suddenly he was filled with a fierce joy for what he was, and an intoxicating sense of power. Nothing could stop him; he was the dark night after all. As soon as the first man came in Bruce shot him in the kneecap and grabbed him, he spun him around and charged out using his gun as his weapon and his body as his shield. Soldiers fell left and right. He remembered getting hit a couple of times in the thigh, on both shoulders and in his side but he was so drunk on his own power he barely noticed the pain. He was firing and firing like a madman, the body in his hands was long dead. At one point he noticed one of the soldiers at the end of the hall holding a grenade. Immediately Bruce took aim and fired at his hand, and then he dropped his human shield and leapt back into his cell slamming the door behind him. The corridor exploded into a being of heat and light that died as soon as it was born. Bruce edged his door open. The corridor was charred; the numerous bodies were blackened beyond recognition. He picked up a fresh gun and loaded it then he poised and waited.

And waited, and waited, for five whole seconds. Nothing happened.

The battle was over, he had won. As he walked out into the hall he confirmed that there had been more than twenty people, closer to fifty really, and every single one of them was bone dead. Not a shred of life left. As he was walking, suddenly Bruce swooned in pleasure. He felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his chest and he fell to the ground every single one of his muscles relaxing. He panicked and searched for the source of this and then it dawned on him. The smell! The smell was gone! The universe was full of vibrant dancing colors again. He felt overjoyed for a minute, he might even have done a little dance of happiness before he froze; there was a wood paneled door on the left side of the room and he had heard a distinct voice coming from there.

He collected himself realizing that the danger was not yet over. He crept slowly towards the door and put his hand on the bronze knob. It was locked. He pointed his gun at the keyhole and fired. The door flew open.

The room was empty. Bruce looked around and upon verification of emptiness crept slowly in there was a desk in the center of the room with the words R. A. Anthony. There were the sounds of a man sniveling coming from under the desk. He put his foot to it and pushed, the desk toppled over and the man hiding under it uttered a low moan of fear. Bruce appraised him critically; he was of average height with a weak chin and a drooping nose that was leaking mucus. His lips were shaking and his whole body was trembling. No defined muscle tone, no stature, obvious display of fear. This man was not a fighter.

"Hmm, Anthony is it? Let me guess…Roy? Robert? Robin?" The man stuttered so Bruce twirled his gun around.

"Robert, its Robert" he whispered shakily.

"Well Robert, it sure is a pleasure seeing you again. I'm going to assume it was you on the intercom that day all that time ago, am I right?"

Robert was shaking pretty hard now, but when Bruce fingered the gun one more time he managed a weak "yes".

"Tell me what you said about Alfred and my house. Was that true?"

Robert once again declined to answer. So Bruce had to crack his knuckles rather loudly "Robert…"

Robert gulped and starting babbling "Yes, it is true but please, it wasn't my idea, I was against it all along, honest! I even-"

There was a bang and Anthony starting crying and cradled his right hand in his lap; "please…" he choked out.

"That was for my house; this" he said and shot his left arm "Is for Barbara"

"I'm sorry" Anthony begged "I didn't-"

Bruce shot him in his left knee "This is for the crap food" He said, "And this" another shot, this time on the right knee "Is for the lovely lavatory"

Then Bruce pointed the gun at the man's groin and said "this is for the smell" he pulled the trigger.

And Anthony screamed for all he was worth; Bruce slid his gun into a man's mouth for the second time that day, his voice was deadly quiet as he said "And this is for Alfred."

Anthony shut up.

As Bruce walked out of the prison facility, he heard the sound of a siren. There was an entire blockade outside the door waiting for him, at least a hundred officers, all with their guns out at pointed at him. The soldier at the front was wearing shades. He said "Bruce Wayne, if you aren't the most resourceful bastard ever born I'll be damned. It's a great pity but…" he lowered his shades and winked at him before he turned to the soldiers and said, "On my signal, I want you to shoot this son of a-"

The poor man couldn't speak anymore, because there was a piece of ice lodged in his throat. A soldier flew into the air and landed next to his fallen commander, another followed, and then another.

A few soldiers levelled their guns but they were down before their fingers touched the trigger. The blockade flew into an uproar.

The justice league had arrived.

 **So yeah, that's my chapter for today. Sorry for the cliff!**

 **I'm afraid I won't be able to post for a couple days; in fact I'll be lucky to get a post in this week, so please bear with me**

 **RRF thanks man; your words mean a lot. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations.**

 **My book Blog: The colors of words at WordPress**

 **J**


	5. Memories

Bruce Wayne did _not_ do giddy.

However he was feeling a little different from his usual self. His throat hurt, it was raw. Understandable, as this was his first time laughing after almost a year.

The justice league had arrived and almost thirty seconds later the entire force had been obliterated. Bruce walked down the steps and looked for a second at the team of warriors he had assembled not so long ago. It was intimidating to see how far they had gone. How much they had improved and how far they had come from the ragged group of broken people they had been a year ago. It still boggled his mind how much they had gone through for him, how much they had worried about him. How hard they must have searched.

Would they still want him as their leader after he had so clearly proven that given the fact that all his strength rested in his gear and his skill with it, that without it he was nothing more than a liability, a broken shell of a man? True he had managed to break through the prison, but that was luck and insanity, and even though he did pull it off, he was standing with a gun in front of the police force. He would be dead a dozen times over before he pulled the trigger if they wanted him so, yet here he was, alive only because of them.

What exactly does one say in a position like this? What does he do when he's surrounded by people that he owes so much love and gratitude to; especially after being imprisoned for over half a year?

He was spared searching for the solution to this dilemma because at that moment Diana Prince, and everybody else, decided to give him a hug.

It was good to be back.

XXX

I take special care to make sure my bedroom is always open to the sun. Not only does it let me stay at the peak of my strength, but I can make sure that I always know exactly whose coming and going.

When I first took power it was quick and bloody. I had been alone in the temple of solitude for over half a year, some of my time had been spent in wondering if I was doing the right thing, and the rest of the time was the assertive part of my personality yelling "who cares?" and working on my master plan for world domination.

I bet you know who I am by now.

The president was in his office, pacing when I came in. He looked relieved to see me after so long; I didn't give him the time to change his expression. By that point the security team had arrived. It did little to hamper me though, there was nothing but a bloody mess left a few seconds later. Next I went to each and every nuclear facility in the USA and blew them up one by one. They went down easy. Unfortunately by that time word of my rampage had spread across the globe, I had to move fast. I found a list of all the nuclear plants and storage facilities there were and razed them to the ground one after the other. When I got back to the white house there was a large military blockade set up.

I showed myself the afternoon of the next day; when the sun is at its brightest.

Those bastards never stood a chance.

I walked up to the Oval Office and took a seat. The world decided that it was time to get rid of Superman. Unfortunately they just couldn't seem to find all those nuclear warheads they had been building for so long.

A week passed, I contacted all the major presidents and the American army's general. Each of them swore allegiance to him before the phone registered the first five minutes. The staff came, the mess was cleared and everything was back in order.

Amazing thing about this planet is just how quickly order reasserts itself. It was on the third month after my takeover that I heard of what Bruce Wayne was doing.

That dirty black worm.

I was a good ruler, and I sure as hell knew it. Sure I might have killed a dozen or so people, but that was necessary, it was the fastest and most effective way to get into power. Because the people finally had an authority that was in all ways better than them, they had no choice but to obey. There was no more war, no more pain or suffering, the world prospered under me; they simply could not see it. I had ministers who ensured me that the people were well fed, well cared for, well loved. They assured me they were doing a great job. What else can you ask for?

But then there was Bruce Wayne down in Gotham stirring up a huge riot. He was at the head of 'The Organization', really cool and all, but seriously though? Who did these people think they were?

I had an order sent out for his arrest, but then again, this is Batman we're talking about. For half a year, all I got were reports of failure; and I knew I would have to intervene myself if this was going to work. I set up a plan.

I had to make an opportunity the justice league couldn't resist. I sent a delegate of 5000 armed soldiers into Gotham; I told them to make sure everyone in the city knew that I would be sending my own personal representative, a man from my inner circle, to question suspected citizens on why there were no leads on the Batman case after six months.

Yep, 'Question'. Get my meaning?

The representative did, if I may, a very good job. He would consider the police reports and track down each and every person who had any connection to Batman. One by one we lined them up and every night my representative took one of them into his special quarters, oh he sure had a hell lot of fun.

The toughest one lasted five and a half hours, what can I say? My man got carried away…

He had the place rigged to its maximum audible potential, and the video camera's he had fixed were top notch, each and every one of them.

He made use of my 5000 guards too. Every night in town square he had a huge LED screen put up, and all of my loyal subjects were made to gather and watch until his playthings expired.

This went on for two whole weeks with no response from the justice league. And then my man had a brilliant idea, after that every victim he took he played a game with them, he would make them talk, talk about what they knew of batman, how they had come into contact with him, he would make them _lie_. He would tell them to talk about how much they hated Batman, how much they despised him, how much they wanted him dead, how much they would _love_ to turn him over.

And boy did he know how to get them to say exactly what he wanted them to.

One day he decided a reminder was necessary. So he would make them repeat over and over to his wide array of camera's that it was Batman's fault they were here, that it was the justice leagues fault. That if they would simply turn themselves over no one else had to suffer, to die.

Don't know if it was Bruce holding them back or their own wits. But then people started begging; yes, _begging_ to the justice league to give up, to show them, he knew it was only a matter of time.

It happened on the 22nd night after his arrival; the guards after gathering everyone up in town square, they shot everyone who resisted and a few of those who didn't but were shot anyway because the guards felt like it. My representative had effectively destroyed any ruling system and raping and looting was common. Now as he went into the room in which he had spent the nights of the last three weeks, he was besieged.

The guards had set up in a loose circle around the perimeter of the people who were being forced to witness the gruesome spectacle. But they had grown slack after three weeks of no activity. It was easy for the key members of The Organization to slip in undetected. Batman, Wonder Woman, Cyborg, Aquaman, and the Flash; they all converged in the middle of the crowds, doing their best to block out the noises coming from the screen. The room which was the base of my representatives operation was located out of the city, but this was a necessary step, a precaution if you would.

The Bat threw a little something at the telescreen, which went up in a great bang and puff of smoke. The guards converged on it like moths to a flame and as decided, Batman and Diana slipped away with prowess leaving the other three to the fighting crowd in the hopes that it would minimize the casualties. The two who had left made their way deftly towards the headquarters of the representative.

They had hoped that their distraction would draw most of the guards towards the city premises, but they expected my man to be smart enough to keep some with him in case of all this being an elaborate trap. That's why they had two warrior's not just one.

But in the end, even that was not enough.

Their arrival did not go unnoticed, the guards converged upon them. There were many hundreds there strong, but the two heroes were holding their own well. That is, until they noticed my representative slipping past the melee, and away from the building. Diana Prince noticed the Bat glaring after the man with fire in his eyes and said "Go, I'll hold them off." She had no idea, how much she would regret those words in the months to follow.

Batman threw a stun grenade clearing the path, and ran after his escaping quarry. The man was obviously fit, no matter how fast Batman ran he never seemed to be able to catch him; he couldn't even run fast enough to get him into range for one of his missiles. But it was only when the bat began to feel the first signs of fatigue did he notice how odd this was. How was the man consistently outrunning him? All things considered it didn't make sense. His suit had built in health support functions like automated back support and cords that helped with tendon strength, not to mention he was at the epitome of masculine fitness. Yet he was the one panting and not the other way around.

All things considered it didn't make sense unless…

Unless…

The man stopped running, and turned around. Bruce stopped too, and honestly it felt like he couldn't take another step. The man in front of him seemed to be aware of that.

He took a step to the right, and vanished. Bruce whirled around in a panic and saw that I had made a 180 degree turn and that I was the one now blocking his way to the city. It was at that point that I got rid of the cloak and hat.

Surprise!

I don't know what Bruce's face looked like at that exact moment, but I am damn sure it would be well worth a million dollars.

I'm sure he would have activated the Kryptonite gas he always kept with him in case of a situation exactly like this one. Unfortunately I got to him first.

I made sure to be gentle; this was not a toy I wanted to break.

And now despite all my efforts, nine months later here he was. Back to haunt me again.

 **Well that's it for now. Hope I didn't keep you guys waiting too long. If you noticed any plot holes or have any ideas for further chapters I'd be happy to receive them.**

 **RRF thanks again for your motivating words mate, they mean a lot.**


	6. Worries

One of my orderlies, an unfortunate middle aged man, had been chosen to deliver the news to me.

When he reached my rooms however, he found the double doors in intimidatingly small pieces along with the rest of my furniture, and the window. The poor man had been sure that his life was forfeit so when he saw the opportunity to run, he seized it. I had of course heard it from my advisors, people who tended to forget just exactly how sharp my hearing really was.

"He's free…he's escaped…league saved him…no one left alive"

I had felt, at the moment a peculiar sensation.

I wouldn't go as far as to call it fear. How could I be afraid of an insect like Bruce Wayne after all? No it was more of an, unsettling apprehension, a paranoia regarding this very odd man. The prison I had sent him too was made solely for him. The kept him so drugged he could barely think straight. They fed him just enough to keep him alive. They had virtually no ventilation at all to protect him from the overwhelming, gut wrenching odors of his own excretion, which I _knew_ would torture him brutally. They had a hundred trained personnel inside the building alone and three explosives. They didn't even let him leave his cell for seven whole months. And he _still_ broke out?

Unthinkable, simply and undeniably impossible; there were only three possibilities that could explain this anomaly. Either he had inside help, a guard or two that lent him food and weapons and protected him from the worse of my maltreatment. Either he was extremely, _extremely_ resourceful. Or lastly he, like me, had been gifted by the supernatural. He was no longer simply a man, but a divine being, a god or deity or maybe even a mutant; being blessed with holy (or unholy) providence whilst rotting away in a prison seemed to be highly unlikely though.

But despite the heightened impossibility of his successful escape, unsettling as it was…it wasn't that which stirred that feeling of confusion…of _apprehension_ inside me. I had been of the opinion of getting rid of him once and for all in one fell stroke; it was my advisors that had finally convinced me of the worth of keeping him alive. If I killed him, the rebellion would strike back with renewed force, they would come at me like a wave, and people would join them.

 _My rule would be a sour one if there was no one left to rule_ I thought wryly.

Then I had wanted to kill him after his confession, after he told everyone in the world that he was broken and done for. But they had stopped me even then, telling me that if I kept him alive the justice league would be held at bay. And of course I saw the reason in that too, the justice league wouldn't dare attack if they thought their precious bat was a hostage. If I were to torture him they would probably try to release him from his misery but this way they were holding out hope, hope for his escape.

And what do you know? Their prayers had been answered.

But not this time, this time the consequences be _damned_. I didn't care what happened, I didn't care if there was a large scale rebellion, the largest in history, the man had become too much of a threat. I would find him, and I would eliminate him. If the justice league led the rebellion in all out march against me, I would lay waste to them all. Every single one would crumble under my feet. The justice league might be strong but I had a following too. They could only deal with so many people. I would find the Bat once again from amidst them and after I was done with him I would lay ruin far and far, ruin such that no one would dare to oppose me.

But no, that was not what _unsettled_ me. The unsettling thing was that the reports all said that the prison had been devoid of human life when they reached it; every single one of the soldiers was dead. Some of them had been shot but most had been incinerated. The mass of the bodies was gathered around the hallway leading to his cell and some leading to it. The head of the facility was another case altogether; he was on the floor of his office a bullet in all four limbs, his groin and in his brain. On his chest were three words, scratched out with one of the pens that were lying on his desk.

 _Clark you're next._

But that wasn't the thing that worried me. Everyone in the prison had been killed, the head savagely murdered. It was said that they saw him laughing his head off while his friends destroyed the entire force.

 _Thou Shalt Not Kill_

Well whatever the hell had happened to that?

 **I know it's short but I hope you liked it anyway. Looking forward to hearing from you guys. Thanks again for your helpful words RRF.**


	7. Plans

XXX

"Well guys, I'm going to be honest here. You screwed up big time" Bruce let out a resigned sigh.

"You really can't blame us you know, we did our best considering the fact that we were searching for you all along" said Diana

"And a fat lot of good that did didn't it?" He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

His teammates looked at him with pain in their eyes. "Well, if that's how you really feel…" Barry let the unfinished sentence hang.

Bruce brushed a hand through his long hair, "look guys: that's not what I meant. I appreciate everything you've done for me. You know how I am; I let my temper get the best of me some-"

"No you don't" Barry cut him off. "You never did that; let your temper get the best of you that is. You had such control over yourself, like you were a machine or something. But ever since you got back you've been behaving so…so volatile."

At these words Bruce snapped, "Well I'm sorry I get mad every so often nowadays, must have something to do with being locked up in a room for seven months on end." He left the room in a rage.

They had no fixed place; it would be too dangerous for the operation. The five of them kept moving around from city to city, state to state in the hopes of picking up new recruits and always staying two steps ahead of the enemy. However the LA base was one Bruce particularly liked. He had always found the name painfully ironic; the city of angels, one of the most sinful places in the world. Sure it may have nothing on Las Vegas or Amsterdam but still; clubs, casinos and everything and in between. Bruce had never been a particularly religious person, but the biblical story of the fall of the angels had always got him thinking. 'Tis better to rule in hell, than to serve in heaven', but was it really?

He had lived many heavy years filled with so much pain. Yet nothing had hurt him half so much as Superman's betrayal; to think that something, someone that good had fallen so much. The city of angels was beautiful no mistake, but it wasn't enough not what he wanted. He wanted the whole world to be beautiful, for everything to be beautiful, but he had been robbed of that. "I hate him" he said, "I hate him so much that when I see him, I don't care how much stronger he is than me, I'm going to throw him on the ground, and I'm going to look into his eyes and I'm going to whisper in his ear, whisper sweet nothing as I cut him off piece by piece. But I'm not going to kill him then. I'm going to give him seven days. And every day I'll go and sit next to him, and I'm going to cut a little bit more out of him, maybe a nose, maybe an eye. And then one day, one day…one day there will be nothing left; _nothing_." He coughed into his own hand, coughed blood.

His chest constricted, and he saw the city before him, but it wasn't a city anymore. It was something else altogether. It was a fragment out of hell, there was nothing beautiful left; everything worth existing was gone, there was only fire and ash. The city had been razed to the ground and the people were being driven like slaves, driven by monsters in black cloaks and black cowls so nothing could be seen but their skeletal hands and their bony wings, they flew amongst the people pushing them forward, pushing them down and dragging them up, building, breaking and building again. The sky was the shade of purple an old bruise attains, with flecks of blood red here and there, the city laid out before him was in ruin, he could hear its agony, its cry for help, and before it all, stood a gigantic silhouette, and enormous figure wearing a hood with its head bent, yet as Bruce looked upon it, it lifted its head and showed itself. Bruce stood shell shocked for a second and then he leapt, leapt with everything towards nothing, leapt towards the hooded monster, leapt towards superman.

And as he jumped he grew wings, mighty black bat wings that burst from his back and propelled him towards his smiling adversary. A spear appeared in his hands as he soared towards the towering menace, and just as he was close enough to plunge his weapon deep into the emptiness, it swallowed him whole and he fell into a black abyss.

As he fell straight down the enemy materialized, he stood smiling in front of him, so close, yet so far. He felt he could touch him, yet he felt he would never reach. The man lifted his hand and a beam of light shot forth that enveloped Bruce completely. Yet it was not an illuminating light, it was a searching light, a light that blinded the enemy so you could attack a light that shone in places where it was supposed to be dark. It was a black, dark light and as it shone upon him, Bruce felt as if he had lost himself, lost himself and everything that made him what he was, made him a man. The light stripped him of his wings, his weapon, his clothes and his very flesh. And when they were the only things left, the light shone ever darker and his bones cracked open too, and then everything spilled out for his enemy to see, to take.

But from beneath them all shone another light, his _own_ light. A light that fought against that which superman had lain against him, a light with which he pushed his enemy back. Suddenly he was the one on the ground and his enemy was the one who was reaching out to him, reaching forward to stop him, but he would not relent, he shone ever brighter, shone until he had obliterated everything, ever fragment of that which had made up his enemy was hidden from sight.

And amidst that light Bruce felt something tugging at him, pulling him back. And backwards he was pulled until finally, _finally_ he emerged from the nightmare.

He was lying on the balcony, the league members stood over him. He leapt up and glanced out over the city. It was all just as he remembered. His knees gave out under him and he passed out.

He woke up many hours later in his bed, his clothes and the bedsheets were soaked through with his sweat and the league stood in a loose circle around him. They all jumped up when he came around.

Apparently he had suffered from a fit, he had been standing on the balcony when suddenly he had fallen to the ground and started convulsing. Barry had come to talk to him when he saw him writhing on the ground silently; no one knew what to do so they had settles for throwing water on him and shouting his name until he came around.

As soon as he assured them that he was absolutely fine and that there was nothing to worry about, he called for all of them to get some chairs and a table, and to make them comfortable. While they were gone he spared himself a moment of thought.

What had happened, he had seen the city in ruin and superman in a hood and cloak, that he had fought him and vanquished him with a light from the very depths of his being. What that meant was plain enough to see, it was his psychology, his fears about what was happening and was going to happen. He lived under the constant fear of superman's dictatorship and he believed his spirit mind and body, his _being_ was purer than superman ever could be and that in the end he would vanquish him. But that was not the problem, the problem was the just gazing out in the night at the city he had a fit, a _fit_!

Just how deep did the scars of the punishment he had suffered go?

He took several deep breaths to calm himself and tried to think up the symptoms, what had he been doing when he had been struck with the attack? He had been gazing out at the city, thinking about how beautiful it was, he had been thinking about the Christian story of the fall of the angels, maybe that was it? Perhaps intense, focused, or even philosophical thought over long periods of time was what triggered his attack and could possibly trigger it again?

But no, it wasn't only that, he had been thinking about superman too. He had been thinking about what he would do to him, how he would destroy him, how he would tear him apart bit by bit, stretching out his suffering and making him beg for-argh!

He felt his chest spasm again; had they implanted in him somehow, something to stop him from thinking ill of superman, their beloved dictator? No, that couldn't be it, he had gone through a full body scan as soon as he had gotten back, and there was nothing in him to make him subservient to their wishes. Somehow his body must have developed a weakness or defense mechanism against strong emotional feeling, possibly his heart had weakened and could not bear the increased blood flow that resulted from strong emotional feelings.

When he thought of how they had damaged, how much they had weakened him, it made his skin crawl. The rage he felt towards those bastards was palpable. He would find them and he would make them-crap! His chest underwent a spasm again. He would have to learn to control himself better.

It was around this time that his teammates managed to settle themselves in around him. He pulled the table closer to himself and picked up a metal scale and pencil that his teammates had been thoughtful enough to include with the desk along with a few pieces of paper. He brushed the paper around and drew a rough square on the table's wooden surface along with a much smaller circle.

"Imagine this square represents superman while this circle represents us. Now due to seven months of neglect we have lost a lot of our cause's strength due to people either losing our faith in us, or people believing the rebellion had been broken before it begun. Those will be the easiest to win back over, the real problem lies in the fact that even if our numbers were restored and multiplied a hundred fold, we would still have less than superman, we need to win a _lot_ , and I mean a phenomenally large lot of people over. Now here's what we're going to do. People, if they wanted to do what right, to help the good guys and to serve the just cause, they would have joined us already. There are only two things that suppress a man's desire to do what's right, and those are greed, or fear. Now superman's oppressing them, his officers are taking all the goods and luxuries in life for themselves, with his backing and vast army behind them. So not counting a very small percentage of the people, it's not greed that's holding them back, its fear. And what I propose we do about it is this. The thing about people is that they like to be on the winning side. _No one_ wants to be the loser, if they think that they have to choose between us and him, and we are going to be the ones who take away the spoils, them they will flock to us like cattle. What we need to do, is something; or a series of things so outrageous, that when they witness them first hand, they will have no doubt whatsoever as to who are the winners and who are the losers. And what that's going to be is…"

 **Well folks, I'm afraid that's all for today. Thanks for all your great reviews and I will see you tomorrow.**


	8. Publicity

Poop smells bad, but everyone knows that. How many of you, I wonder, know how bad poop tastes like?

Richard does; Richard Parker that is, unfortunately is intimately aware of what human excretion tastes like. This is because his head is currently being dunked into a used public toilet by yours truly.

Batman is as you know, very experienced in modulating his vocals as to avoid recognition. He employed this skill now as he convinced Mr. Parker to broadcast exactly what he wanted tomorrow. Richard, you see was the anchorman of the nine o' clock news, the most watched news program in the states at the moment. That was where Batman would have to strike to ensure his words had the most influence. Here is a brief rundown of their conversation.

Richard: (Upon being grabbed by the collar and pulled into a chokehold, and then dragged into the toilet he has just used) what the hell? Who is this?

Bruce: (Silently plunges his head in the toilet which has a notoriously weak flush)

Richard: (Upon being released) what the $%*& man! Why are you doing this? Who the $ #% are you anyway?

Bruce: (adopting a deep, gravel intimidating voice) let's just say if Batman was a god I would be a zealot. I want to convey a message to superman, say these things on national television exactly. Because if there is one thing I know, it's that it is impossible to stop a broadcast because of controversy. Get things brewing nice and good; tell them you have a message from batman to superman to get them hooked and make sure to clearly say exactly what I tell you, word to word… (He gives him a scrap of paper containing the message)

Richard: (Reads it), the people won't believe that Batman actually contacted me and gave me this message even if that's what I say.

Bruce: They don't need to believe you, it's the drama that really needs to be stirred. Once you get the message out The Dictator won't be able to do anything to you, or your company because if he did, he would lose every last shred of reputation being denounced as a coward and a spineless man. They won't stop your broadcast because so many people would be watching that if they did the people would storm your building holding you under pain of death to tell them what the message was. And if the message was passed that way, then being a secret, a whisper, a rumor, it would spread even faster. All you have to do is walk up their tomorrow and start talking.

Richard: And what if I won't?

Bruce: (plunges a needle into his neck and injects something inside) that my dear friend, if your classic miniature radio bomb. I press one button and you morph into some very _colorful_ fireworks, get my meaning?

Richard: …

Bruce: look it's a win-win for you. Not only will you gain fame and wealth as the man Batman contacted, but you will be immune from superman because if he were to make a move against you, it would lead to the people labelling him as a pathetic craven. Now keep you head down until I tell you to do otherwise (clicks his gun)

And so batman left a poor kneeling anchorman in a public toilet with a heavy burden and a lot on his mind. He threw a cord onto the third building to the left and was promptly hauled up. Diana and Triton were their waiting for him

"Did it work? Is he in?" said Arthur.

"Yeah he is I planted the bomb too though, for good measure."

"What! Well, all right if it was necessary, but I really hope you don't intend to use it." Diana had been reluctant to even consider planting a bomb, but she was eventually convinced under the pretext that it was just to motivate the anchorman.

"Mm-Hmm" replied Batman, neither affirming the statement, nor negating it; and thus the three friends made their way back.

The next day after they had finished their dinner at 9 pm sharp, they put on the news. After the intro, a visibly nervous Richard Parker made his way to his desk and sat down. Off the bat he gulped down the glass of water placed next to him, and wiped the sweat on his bro with a handkerchief. He adjusted his perfect tie, took a deep breath, and began:

"My dear friends today I have a most troubling piece of information to share with you. Only last night, the one and only Bruce Wayne, who's nefarious escape has already become public knowledge, contacted me and gave me this message to pass on to all of you. Yes, _the_ Bruce Wayne, otherwise known as Batman of Gotham city. He has a message that he wishes to be passed on to our great and most benevolent dictator. My lord, before I unveil this message I would like you to know that I am your most diligent trustee and loyal servant. I humbly beg your mercy before I make the contents of this missive public as I would like to assure you that I bear you in no way any grudge or ill will, I am merely fulfilling my duty as a news anchor. Here it is folks, the message goes:" here he paused and took a deep breath before continuing "Superman, Clark Kent, Kal-el, you have many names but you cannot hide your treachery and dirtiness beneath them. I am back my friend, back to put you and all those you command to rights. You put me in the greatest prison you had, one for me alone, surrounded by guards and with a blockade at your immediate command, yet still I single handedly broke out, you put me under threat of torture not of myself, but of those I held near and dear. Thus in this cowardly fashion you had me say that I was broken, that I had lost, and the rebellion had broken. But broken it has not I assure you. We have merely been biding our time waiting for me to return to them. And now I must thank you, for due to your pathetic attempts to lock me away and make me look weak I am now stronger than ever. We are now stronger the ever, the rebellion is now stronger than ever. It's pitiful you know, because most empires last longer than this, but you, an immortal, who could have reigned forever, brought about your own defeat in the most idiotic way imaginable. Truly Kal, you are a fool. We stand here before you now Superman, in numbers that rival yours. You cannot see us, but we are here have no doubt, crawling under your skin, hiding under the system. We are everywhere." Richard was shaking very hard right about now, and if face wouldn't have been wetter if he had just taken a shower. But he forced himself to read out the last line. "If you aren't too scared to do so, then come to the musée de louvre in Paris. In front of the world's best art I will show you my true power. Three days, that's all you get to show your power." Richard having finished his job, took a deep breath and saying "That's all for today folks" signed off immediately.

The message had been passed, the people had heard, the mission was a success. That night the justice league rejoiced.

Then the preparations for phase two began. Because of the message the people of the world would now believe that the rebellion had strength on par with that of superman. They would think that they were the winning side because of their confidence, and they would shift their allegiance to us. Since you had to keep your mouth shut at all times regarding delicate matters like the rebellion or else the dictator's snitches would get you caught, they would keep their change of heart private, perhaps going so far as to share secret glances and messages, but since that is all they would do, they would start joining the rebellion, the cause with a force paramount to a snowball rolling down a hill gathering more mass as it goes. The snowball would have to hit the ground though, and when that happened the trouble was that the mountain might end up too short. For that, they would have to make another bold move, they would have to make the bonds of the remaining people, who were obviously either too much in his sway, or loyalists, change their allegiance by making another move. The first move had been simply an insult filled message, but this one would have to make him a laughing stock.

Three days later all preparations were checked and double checked (they had been in place before the message had been sent) and the guards scanned, rescanned, and scanned once more for any traps or hidden devices laid in superman's wake on the allotted day. The league had put some few devices and measures in place to humor the guards and allay their suspicions. They were all discovered and removed. They had to put some effort into hiding them and even allowed one or two casualties to make sure the enemy did not suspect anything for them being too easy to outmaneuver. When they had launched a full scale search on the area, batman had almost wallowed in his own self-satisfaction like a happy cat. The bait had been bitten. Superman would come.

There were only two difficulties. Firstly, Bruce had been struck by the ingenious idea to detonate the bomb he had placed inside his victim, he had made it very clear in the note he had given him, under the heading; 'do not read aloud' that Richard was under constant surveillance and if he made any move to get the bomb removed, it would be detonated without a second thought. He was not of course under any surveillance but the threat had been enough and Richard had stayed far away from any medical help. He obviously hoped that he would be able to excrete it, but bloodstream explosives, as he did not know, are specifically made never to let this occur. Bruce wanted to detonate it precisely because he had no reason to do so, and the public would attribute his sudden untimely death, to be the work of Superman. If the dictator tried to deny it, it would only improve their conviction. The move was designed to weaken his support even more and Bruce, finding it very useful, enforced it without consulting his teammates. This understandably made them very angry and unsettled their moral values, as they found it most heinous to murder an innocent anchorman. It was only with great effort did he finally manage to get them to stop ignoring him.

The second problem was that they had cut off all radio signals from outside the city of France to enter it. This would not have been a problem except for the fact that they had also emptied the city of all its inhabitants. No one could enter it now. Thus the plan had to be modified. They would have scanned the entire area but Paris was a large city and they could only have scanned the whole place, every single house and building with so much scrutiny. The league had chosen and empty house and installed their laser there, a device in a very specific shape designed to burn through cloth. Thus its wavelength was much less than the average assault laser, but it was at the same time much higher than that of the sun. This was important because they knew that the guards would not hamper the sun from reaching superman as that was essential to him staying at peak strength. Their plan banked on two things, that superman was wearing a cape, and that the visors for protection from any assault lasers would not block the much lower laser wavelength of a laser designed to burn through cloth. However they could not now operate their laser as the city was supposed to be empty, they had rigged it to a remote device that would allow them to enact their plan in the push of a button, but for even that to work they would have to be inside the radio wave barrier (waves could travel freely inside, this was necessary so that the soldiers might be able to communicate). Given all of these rather compromising circumstances, there was now only one thing that they could do, and they would do it.

The day came. They would not need any video cameras; the soldiers would be sure enough to talk. The day crept on and neither party made any move. Then just as the clock struck twelve, a lone figure could be seen walking towards the city, he was in a duster, a hat and boots. No one challenged him, no one stopped him, and the guards simply lowered the barricades they had imposed as per their orders. And as the figure reached The Louvre a sound could be heard in the distance. Sort of the like the noise you hear when a plane passes overhead. And then with an all mighty crash superman crashed into the ground. A cloud of dust and debris was thrown into the air for miles around, and the figure reached a hand inside him pocket.

When the dust cleared superman stood in front of the man in the duster, in full costume, blue shirt, red underpants…and cape.

Gasps and burst of laughter originated from behind him, he whirled around, angry and confused, but not spots the source of this mirth. He treated everyone to a fine view while they started laughing louder and louder as he tried to find what had happened until one well-wisher said "Milord, your cape."

Superman tore his cape off and looked upon it in horror, for branded upon it was the symbol of Batman himself.

He turned towards his enemy, but Barry Allen was already gone.

 **Dum Dum Dum. So that's that. I hope you guys liked this chapter; I put a lot of effort into it. Please review guys, it means a lot to me, and thanks for reading. See you (hopefully) tomorrow.**

 **DracoStrike786 signing out.**


	9. Muster

If any of you happened to be in Washington on October the Third 2071, you might remember the Whitehouse exploding.

Yep, you heard that right, the Whitehouse exploding. See the phenomenon behind this rather sudden and painfully historic event is something called anger; also known as rage.

Superhuman Rage

A certain Superhuman by the name of Kal suddenly found himself an object of intense human mirth. He seemed to be the butt of jokes, the new trend everywhere he went. They say a man's house is his castle. Well his castle was suddenly his circus.

So one day he decided rather than finding and punishing everyone who dared to make him the subject of mocking humor, he would simply obliterate the white house along with everyone inside of it. This, as you can imagine, didn't turn out that well. Like the bullies who tend to pick on the ones who show the most effect, the most pain, and are the most responsive to their bullying; the humiliation of superman only amplified as a result of his _explosive_ response. If anything the jokes became ten times more intense, and a hundred times more secretive.

Here the man wonder dug his hole a little deeper. He ordered that anyone who was caught passing lewd comment regarding him be brought to him, and he adopted the practice of killing them in painful ways (drowning, burning, impalements, dismemberment etc.), however this only worsened the scenario. The beauty of the trick was that The Flash had been swift enough to both get rid of the laser, and exit the city premises himself. So the people actually thought that, believe it or not, that superman owned a batman themed cape and had accidentally worn it to his fateful battle. His efforts to deny and quell such rumors only worsened the situations.

It was only when a dog was brought forth did he change his mind. Apparently it had been caught, along with various other animals to be roaming the streets with an affixed collar that announced at an immensely _bold_ volume that a certain 'Kal-El' was a certain 'Bat's' closet fanboy, who sadly couldn't handle a joke. At that point superman just passed the order to shoot on sight at all suspicious activity. He refused to entertain anyone at all, even his advisors, and that disabled him to get any advice regarding how his blatantly idiotic actions worsened the situation immensely.

Guess which product was in the highest demand in the black market? You got it, red capes with the Batman logo on them in black.

It was around a month after superman decided to take action against the ever increasing attack on his prestige. Unfortunately it wasn't that simple.

See the certain Bat, had a way with computers, he would talk to them, and they would talk to him, and when he wanted them to do something, they did it. Thus he secretly obtained the passwords to all of the popularly viewed news channels. Then he waited for the moment to make his move. He had to wait almost an entire month.

When Superman got up from his royal arse-cushion and decided to grace the world with his presence once more, Batman made his move. He had retired to a fine palace in the country outside Washington and, being the man he was, announced that he would be giving a dictatorial address. The fateful day came and behold! The area he had arranged to be made with seating for the good people of Washington and any who cared to attend was empty. Since attendance was not mandatory, the people who preferred to stay at home.

The man's hold was broken, everyone thought everyone was with the rebellion and because they couldn't really talk about it, there belief only grew firmer and so did their own allegiance to the Bat.

Regardless, since the reporters who had come in great masses to attend were there, a good enough portion of the seating was filled so that the shooting may go on without having to hide embarrassing details. A herald arrived at the lectern and began the opening speech. He did a pretty good job introducing the man, if perhaps he went a bit overboard that could be forgiven. When however Superman arrived to begin his conference, the screens suddenly flickered out, along with the screens of all and everyone who was watching the news that day.

And the clip played.

It showed a man sitting in a hoodie in a dark room, the man's face was mostly hidden other than his mouth, with showed stubble. It showed as much as his head to his chest and from elbow to elbow, the quality, if a bit dim, was obviously top notch. He was a good looking, well-built man, with clearly visible lean muscles. And then in a deep, gravelly baritone, the man started to speak.

"I am Batman. I have come to address you all on this momentous occasion. We have waited and we have suffered long enough. Tonight is the start; the official start of the Rebellion. It has begun Kal, the fight has begun, and I think you know which side the hammer's going to fall. All of you, my friends, my helpers, my rebels, we are going to fight. All of you who are with me may begin the march. You know where to go. You know who your enemy is. Come to us, you know where I am. All of his armies are gone now, there is no one left with him. It's just us now; it all boils down to you. Are you coming, to fight? To remake anew the world we have lost at the hands of this miserable monster, to reclaim your pride, you dignity, as earthlings, as humans? Then come, for you all know where I am. They won't stop you because they can't stop you. Come in sheer numbers, in manpower unimaginable. Every single one of you who believes it is time for humans to rule once again come to us now, this is your first and last chance, so muster and I promise you; I will lead you to the ultimate liberty. March my friends! March! March! March! "

The tape stopped here and started to repeat, it would keep playing until the techies regained controls of their channels. Funnily enough most of them didn't even bother to do that. They just got up and started walking.

Superman had long since flown up and smashed the telescreens, he was barking orders to his men but surprisingly no one it seemed could be bothered to listen, they all just started walking, a few of them fell… but they persisted.

The dictator let his head fall into his hands and started sobbing silently. He would have rejoiced on hearing that Bruce had marshalled them all. He would have flown down and obliterated them. But what was he to do when the rebellion was the entirety of humanity.


	10. Finish

XXX

I fled…

Well what did you expect me to do?

It felt like a dam had burst inside me. I had lived so long fearing people, in painfully awareness of how different I was, how much I could hurt the 'average human' if I wanted to, and how much I could help them. It had felt like all of mankind was against me then, but it wasn't, it was just afraid. He had been given a chance to do right; to go from outcast, to freak, to helper, to hero, to savior, to god.

And then I had blown it.

And there sure as all hell weren't going to be second chances for me.

Not after what I had done.

And now when all of humanity actually was against me; when I had no hope left, all my arrogance melted. Melted like a Popsicle left on the pavement in summer. One second it was there, the next it just…wasn't.

"And he finally realized the great folly he had done." -JRR Tolkien

It came to me just what I had done. As if I had been under the control of a spirit of great malevolence and was finally free. For a second I just stood there absorbing it all, and then I fell to my knees and wept my heart out, and I fled to my temple of solitude.

They arrived at Washington, they found it empty so the divided up into parties to search for me. The biggest one, led by Batman himself, came to the right place.

They camped outside for five days, they made no move and neither did I. it was clear that they had all the time in the world and I had none.

So I pondered, and finally I came to a decision. The sixth day in the freezing cold I walked out, naked except for a thin cloth wrapped around my waist at the navel that went a bit lower than my knees. I felt no chill though, as I walked slowly towards the camps, when I was close enough for them to see me I sat down and started doodling in the snow.

It wasn't long before one of them came to me; before I could even lift my head he started yammering. "We have nuclear weapons we do, we could have you done for in less than a minute if that what we wanted, and we have kryptonite gas, if you get anywhere close to us we'll-"

"I know" I said, "I come in peace"

The youth started cursing and muttering expletives about me and calling me names and reminding me once again of how perfect their defenses were, even adding once or twice how incredibly brave he was in coming all the way out here to talk with me. I listened patiently to his babble until finally he said "I was sent to ask you why you had deemed to show yourself."

"Tell them I wish to talk to their leader" *scoff* "and I comply with any protective measures they wish to take, but I will not go until I have had a word, or I am killed."

The kid looked at me in incredulity for a second, and then ran straight back. A few minutes later he came running back with a glass filled with green liquid in his hand. Even from afar, I knew it was; the stone that dulled by blade.

"He says you are to drink the whole glass in front of me, before he comes to talk to you."

I looked at it for a few seconds, before thinking it was better than dying anyway. I lifted the glass with numb fingers, numbness which had nothing to do with the cold, and downed it in one. I fell back against the snow and waited while I struggled to remain conscious, my stomach hurt like you wouldn't believe.

I was in so much pain that I couldn't even hear his footsteps as he came. It was only when someone decided to throw a snow covered rock at my face did I get up and look.

There he was the figment of my nightmares, as per custom, all in black. We regarded each other for a second before he lunged forward and punched me in the face. Blood gushed forth from my broken lip as I regarded him balefully.

He licked the bit that stained his glove, "Blood" he said in his gruff voice, "You really did drink it" he said with an undertone of wry amusement.

"Surprised?" I choked out.

He looked at me calmly, as if nothing was going on in that scheming head of his.

"Look Bruce, I know you won't believe me but I have _seen the light_. When I saw you all turn against me it lifted whatever spell was on me. I had a revelation, a moment of truth. I've changed now, all my arrogance, my hate my cruelty, it's gone I swear. I'm back, Bruce I'm back! This is me again! You have to believe me please, I am not the dictator, I am superman, I have been resurrected, give me another chance Bruce please, look in my eyes, and tell me", I caught his gaze "Don't you believe me?"

He stepped closer…and closer, so close I could smell his warm, sweet breath on my cheek. He had been drinking, and for some reason I was oddly disappointed.

"I believe you" he said, he had a knife in his hand, a simple unadorned blade, as if to prove that even the mightiest are no better than us. "So I'll make this quick."

And in that one moment of clarity, I realized. I wasn't the only one who had fallen.

And as he lifted the blade, I smiled and said to him "Don't worry Bruce; there might be hope for you too."

He smiled too.

The blade fell.

 **THE END**

 **Thank you all so much for reading and making it this far, I love you guys so much.**

 **If you have any comments or suggestions I would love to hear them.**

 **Goodnight.**


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